


chandelier eyes

by succulents_and_fairy_lights



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Short but hopefully sweet, Young Bruce Wayne, Young Dick Grayson, basically just me waxing poetic about how much I love Martha Wayne, cross posted to tumblr, i talk about eyes too much, i wrote this at like 12am, no editing we die like robins, no proofreading as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21535285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/succulents_and_fairy_lights/pseuds/succulents_and_fairy_lights
Summary: Martha Wayne had eyes like crystal chandeliers.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Martha Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	chandelier eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh idk what to say about this except Attempted Angst Ahead

The first word a person thought upon seeing Martha Wayne was “strong”.

From the firm set of her regal jaw, to her sharp, ridged nose, her thick, dark eyebrows, and the intense line of her lips. 

And when one saw her personality as well, they would know their immediate thought was correct. 

She was stubborn, hard-headed, and was always fighting for someone or something. 

And she was the kindest person one could ever meet. 

She had chandelier eyes. At first glance, they appeared to be a normal deep brown. But when viewed up close, one could see the flecks of gold, of honey, of black, all within the dark of her irises. Galaxies were held in those eyes. 

Like the finest crystal chandelier, her eyes caught the light, twinkling, exuding such warmth that one never wanted to look away. 

But, even the finest crystal can break. 

Bruce saw her beautiful eyes broken twice in his life. Once, when he broke his arm, and the second time, the night she died. 

_ He was falling, screaming, screaming, more screaming...not him? Bats. Bats swirling around him, scratching his arms, screeching, loud, too loud, his arm  _ **_hurt_ ** _...Mama? Papa? Mama  _ **_help_ ** _ — _

__

He awoke to a soft hand in his hair, and a pair of dark eyes watching him. 

“Mama?” He breathed. She smiled, a slight upward twist of the lips that conveyed an almost improbable amount of emotion. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” she whispered, leaning in to lightly brush his nose with her own. “You had us so worried.” 

Bruce frowned, looking up at her face through his thick lashes. He saw the glassy sheen of tears, her joyful eyes turned mournful, almost sharp. 

Like a chandelier, shattered on the floor, shiny, broken, dangerous. He wanted to reach up and hold her tears on his fingers, tiny diamonds in his hands. 

He didn’t. 

She held him as they cried. 

_ He was screaming again, so loud, too loud, endless screams, his throat was raw everything hurt, Mama, Papa...Mama? Wake up please please  _ **_please—_ **

Her blood was redder than rubies. Redder than the roses they planted together in the garden. More red than anything he had ever seen before. It was hot, seeping into his clothes, his skin, his memory. Her blood was sticky. He scrubbed his hands on his blood-soaked pants in some futile effort to clean them. 

His Mama’s pearls were scattered along the asphalt, he looked at them in horror. His Mama loved that necklace, Papa had bought it for their anniversary years ago, years before Bruce was even born. 

He reached down, grabbing three of the beads in his small fist. He crawled over and scooped up a handful, growing more frantic until he couldn’t hold any more. He knelt next to Mama’s body, gently placing the pearls by her. They were pink from the blood on his hands. Mama’s blood. 

Her eyes were open. They had that same look from after he’d fallen. Worried, jagged,  _ broken.  _

The chandelier had fallen, he heard it crash, crystals clinking on the cold street. The chandelier fell, and it sounded like his mother’s scream.

In all his life, he’d never met anyone who had eyes anything like his mother’s. 

As he stared up at the large portrait of his parents, and they stared back at him, he was struck with the fact that the artist had perfectly captured Martha’s likeness in every way, her gorgeous dark hair, elf-like ears, the mischievous quirk of her lips. But her eyes looked dull and lifeless. Nothing could come close to seeing them in person. No artist could paint their essence. 

Martha Wayne had the incredible ability to show almost any emotion through the twinkle of her eye. She passed this on to her son. 

The brightness dimmed as he aged. 

One day, when Bruce was eleven, he realised he couldn’t remember what Mother’s eyes looked like up close. He ran to Alfred and cried and cried, and even after a frenzied search through all the family picture books, he still couldn’t remember. 

His parent’s faces grew hazier with time, but occasionally, there would be a flash of memory, so sudden and vivid. 

_ They were sitting on the roof, Papa was working late at the hospital. Mama had tiptoed into his room, and pounced on him, telling him to “Hurry, get up!”  _

_ He threw on his bathrobe and slippers, wiping the sleep from his eyes as Mama grabbed his hand and dragged him up the stairs.  _

_ Once they were situated, she pointed to the sky.  _

_ “Look, baby, falling stars!” And she had so much wonder in her voice, Bruce was amazed. He didn’t know anything could surprise his Mama.  _

_ Bruce spent more time watching her than the meteors, truth be told. But he didn’t mind. He saw stars every day, in her eyes. The way they twinkled when she laughed loudly, how they sparkled when she looked sad.  _

_ Entire nebulas were trapped in her mind, shining through her eyes.  _

_ Bruce watched his mother instead of the sky, and he didn’t mind one bit. _

The chandelier was golden and shiny and lying shattered on the floor. 

Bent, twisted, bleeding crystals. 

But that didn’t matter. His son was okay. It was an accident, but his son was  _ okay.  _

He held Dick tightly as the small boy cried from shock. 

He was reminded of another day like that one, a quiet smile, and his mother’s eyes. 

Bruce pulled his son closer, and allowed himself to cry. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr!


End file.
